Pertencer
by Elanor Cerin
Summary: "As he sat there, paralysed, he couldn't help but feeling that it was strange to be this calm and analytical." Peter's thoughts during Entrada and Marionette.
1. Standstill

**Here's my take on what Peter was going through during those all important moments of Entrada and Marionette.**

**The disclaimer is useless, as I obviously don't own anything.**

**Pretty please review! Yes? You'll make my day!**

**Note: This story is now in its third version. The first, with the same title, got deleted, the second is under the title Standstill, and the third (this one) has Standstill (revised version) as a first part of what is yet an undetermined number of chapters.**

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As he sat there, paralyzed, he couldn't help but feeling how strange it was to be this calm and analytical. Funny how the greater the distress he was in, the better he could control his emotions.

It often happened like that. A strange coolness and rationality took over him and gave him distance from what was happening to him.

He wasn't quite sure where that came from. Not from his mother, surely. Not from neither of them. Brilliant as they were, of their own right, they were governed by their hearts. One so much stronger than the other, but still, the heart trumped the mind. He had learned what love was from them both, but also the fear of loss.

As for Walter, he remembered all too well his father's inability to relate to his young son. If he had shown some moments of tenderness when he was growing up, they were mostly overshadowed by his overbearing presence and constant reproach of everything he did. Growing up around Walter had been pretty much a study in neglect.

In fairness, he could no longer tell which of the most dreaded memories of his father were of Walter and which were of Walternate. There were so many memories he had repressed or dismissed as fancies of his mind or as dreams, that had turned out to be real, which were mixed with the memories of his childhood Over Here. Now more than ever it was hard to differentiate between the lives in each of the universes.

What he was becoming increasingly aware of was that the bond forged with Walter over the past two years was stronger than blood. He was his son, and he was very sure that Walter loved him as much as he had loved his own son. His Peter.

Oddly enough, where reason made deciding between the two universes impossible – he had only achieved a standstill - emotion allowed him to make the decision. Olivia had had much to do with that. Early on he had admired her for the strength in her beliefs, for the way she pushed everyone around her to try and be their best, because nothing else was acceptable, for how she gave herself whole heartedly to her job. In many ways she was his exact opposite. Caring for her, as a colleague, a friend and as a part of that dysfunctional little family unit they had formed, came naturally. He loved her before any romantic notions entered his mind.

Well, no. In truth, if Olivia hadn't been in love with John, first, and grieving him, later, he wasn't sure if their relationship wouldn't have evolved differently. There had always been an underlying current between them, only he had chosen early on not to act on it. As it was, he began to entertain that possibility, hoping for it, when he began to realize that she needed him, and that she no longer tried to hide or repress it. She began to lean on him in a way that went so against her fierce need for independence, and that was all that he needed to let his feelings go in new directions.

As for Walter, well, he had been part of the decision to come back, too. When it came down to it, Walter had been willing to sacrifice himself to save him (twice!), whereas Walternate, his own father, had plotted to sacrifice him. Of course, he realized that the situation was probably not that clear cut, but he couldn't help feeling it.

So perhaps, there lay his answer – to where he got the detachment from. It seemed as though Walternate was the consummate strategist - cool headed, deeply rational and detached from the impact on individual lives, when he needed to be. As far as he could tell, Walternate was going to sacrifice his long lost son for the greater good.

On some level, he had to be grateful for that trait of his personality. That coolness and the ability to detach himself from his emotions had helped him get out of a scrape more than once. When a glimmer of hesitation or doubt would have gotten him killed, the stillness of emotions that usually descended on him was providential. His brain entered in hyper drive and he became calculating, he was able to map out the best course of action, and to assess the best way to gain the upper hand.

Right now, at the forefront of his mind was the image of his Olivia trapped somewhere Over There, and it was chilling. He would gladly forfeit retribution on that other Olivia, even on Walternate, if only that would get her back safe and sound.

Sitting again.

Only, now, he was feeling more helpless than ever. Every red stop light seemed like a growing barrier between the universes. Every minute wasted in the traffic, travelling from the Bronx to Newark, felt like a void pulling Olivia farther and farther away from him.

They would not cross over. He could not get to her.

Stuck.

He was stuck on one side and she was stuck on the other.

The only chance now was in capturing the other Olivia, the woman who had shared some of the happiest moments of his life. The thought depressed him to depths he didn't know he could reach. The first moments of their new kindled love – Olivia's and his - were wasted because some insane twist of fate made him a key piece in a covert war between universes. She was a captive in another world and he… He had been the happiest he had any memory of ever being.

He had been living a lie.

Again.

He had thought his life was beginning to make sense. Under the unimaginable weight that suddenly his very existence became, he loved and was loved back. He was starting to belong. He had finally found a purpose in life.

How curious it was that he, who had wandered the world and all walks of life, aimless, should now be the one who had to figure out how to save two universes. And while this quest – for what other word suited it best? – was unfolding, he had found a woman who could and was willing to accompany him.

Only, it turned out she was the wrong one.

In retrospect, the subtle differences had been obvious, and he should have known. It was that simple. Inconceivable as it was, he had been to the other side, he had seen how the two universes weren't that different, that it was the finer things that separated the familiar from the foreign.

So, maybe Walter was right. Maybe he had inherited an unwillingness to believe in what he didn't want to from his mother.

"She may be the only chance we have to recover our agent." Broyles said and terminated the call.

He felt his throat go dry. He loathed himself for even entertaining a moment of self pity. Whatever he was going through was nothing compared to what Olivia had to be enduring Over There.

Left behind and all alone.

He still felt strangely sedated and calm, but somehow his rational side was not winning this time. He was worried about Olivia and he feared for her safety. He was sure that time was of the essence, and if they failed to capture the other Agent Dunham, their options were reduced to zero. Despair was beginning to take hold of him.

"Peter, we'll get her. And we're going to bring Olivia home."

Broyles' attempt to rally him up only fuelled the latent anger he was feeling on account of that unbelievable life of theirs.

"Glad you're feeling so confident." He couldn't help but sounding bitter.

Back, she was back.

His incredible Olivia was back.

Hope had been revived when they succeeded in capturing the other Olivia. And when Broyles told him she was back, by her own means, relief and happiness filled him in equal measure, but those feelings were soon quelled by worry, after the moment it took him to process that she was on her way to the hospital.

Images of Olivia in a coma on a hospital bed entered his mind in a flash and all he wanted was to leave and be there by her side.

If some things were still as they had been, maybe his presence would help. He hoped it would.

They could not know what the consequences of yet another crossing between universes were. However, just before boarding the plane he had called Astrid, and the news were good, all things considered. She was still unconscious, but stable. There hadn't been any more seizures.

Sitting there looking out the airplane window, watching the bright white clouds rolling peacefully beneath, the guilt surged forward, like a tidal wave. It oppressed his every thought.

How would he tell her that while she was trapped, and enduring who knows what tortures, he had unknowingly been betraying her?

How could he explain that the oddities and the differences he saw, in a person he thought was her, could have been explained away so easily?

He wanted her forgiveness.

Only, he couldn't forgive himself, so how could she?

Oh! He wanted her forgiveness and their new possibilities back!

But he feared the worst.

He feared all might be lost.


	2. Vigil

**This is still on Peter during Entrada. I'm working on the promissed Marionette chapter, but this one just had to be written before I went further on.**

**Review, please?**

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She sleeps peacefully.

Around him everything is a quiet rustle - her gentle breathing, the whirring of the hospital machines, the muffled footsteps of people coming and going on the corridors outside her room. The quiet is only broken by the disembodied voice from the hospital's loudspeakers; and by the din in his head.

He replays everything, every scene of those last eight weeks that he shared with her. He lists and catalogues every small difference he's noticed. Every new detail that resurfaces is a renewed torture, a fresh cut, another ounce of lead weighing him down.

He watches Olivia's face. He watches every little feature on her face, trying to find something, something that would allow him to tell them apart.

But there is nothing. He is sure that there is nothing. Nothing physical, at least, that would allow telling them apart.

He sighs. He doesn't know what to do, how to go on from what's happened. How should he be around her now? Should he just go on as if he hadn't been in a relationship with…

Shit.

What should he call her?

Her.

She.

Temptress? Or Mata Hari, like Walter had dubbed her? He can't help a derisive snort at the thought.

Or should he just give her some sort of a moniker, something like Walternate?

Maybe Alt-Livia?

Alt-Livia.

He breathes in slowly and raggedly.

He feels tears burning his eyes. He would have to bury it all and pretend it didn't happen, because, really, truthfully, it had all been a fantasy, a lie.

Reality is there, before him, unconscious on that bed.

He wonders if Olivia knows. If she's any idea of what's happened.

If she knows, she'll have no qualms about throwing everything in his face, he is sure. The moment she wakes up, he will know whether she's already been disappointed in him or if he'll have to announce his betrayal.

He can't decide which prospect is worst.

She stirs in her sleep, but only slightly. He is amazed by how peaceful she looks. If she wasn't sleeping, he would even risk saying she looked content.

He will tell her the moment she wakes up. He will tell her everything. Try to explain. To make her see. She'll have to see. She'll have to understand. Everyone was fooled. They belong together. Her words, not his.

Fuck.

She stirs and she is awake and he dreads what'll come next.

And then she smiles and is so clearly happy to see him, that she can't possibly know nor have a clue.

He knows what's worse now. He'd have preferred fury, hate, anything but that smile full of hope and love.

He can't meet her eyes. Steeling himself he takes her hand –his life line. Perhaps that tether to something real will help – she's real!

He'll have to break her heart, he'll have to change everything.

"I'm sorry, Olivia." He hopes he conveys the regret he feels in those brief words.

"Don't apologize. You were the only thing that got me through. If it wasn't for you, I would never have made it back. You saved my life."

And he knows. That moment, no matter what, he knows it's over.

The afternoon sun that filtered through the window blinds adds an eerie unreal atmosphere to the room.

His body rises from the chair of its own accord, with an undeferred momentum. He doesn't even realize what he's doing until he has to brush away her fringe to kiss her forehead.

He finishes what got interrupted more than a year ago by her coming back to life.

He kisses her goodbye.


	3. Long distance

**Well, I struggled with this part like I can't even begin to describe. That's why it took so long to post, and for that I'm sorry. I'm finally happy with it, so here it is. Please review! As soon as I publish this I'm going back to work on the following parts, but at least there's something for anyone who wants to read some more.**

**And review, ok? Please? I'd hate to beg? Or not? heheh**

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He called her that night. He sat up in bed holding the phone nervously.

While the nurse went into her room to see if she was awake, he immediately regretted calling. It was unfair, maybe even cruel, not to keep his distance. How else would Olivia sense that all was not well, and be braced for impact?

But it was too late.

"Peter? Hi." He could hear the smile in her voice and allowed himself to forget, only for the duration of the call.

"Hi. Feeling better?" He asked.

"Yeah, still can't seem to stay awake, though. Hopping between Here and There really takes a toll, I guess", she chuckled good-humouredly. Her voice sounded drowsy, in confirmation.

"Ok, then. I'll let you go back to sleep. I'll go see you in the morning." As the words came out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. Distance! He amended quickly. "You know, if no end of the world situation pops up in the meantime." He said with a scoff.

He imagined her smile widening on the other side of the line.

"Good night, Peter."

"Good night, 'Livia."

He hung up.

Her stay in the hospital had given him a reprieval, but it wouldn't last. He had never thought he'd see the day he'd be sympathetic with Walter's stalling reluctance about telling him of his past sins.

But there it was. He wished he could pretend nothing had happened and just move on, as if they had both just come back from Over There.

He wouldn't have to lose her – it'd take a miracle for Olivia to see past his betrayal, he was sure.

He would shield her from the pain. She had gone through so much in her life. She was strong, so very strong for it, but he loved her, and he wanted more than anything to protect her.

Yet, there was no hiding what had happened. And anyway, the weight of the lie would end them, eventually.

Not telling her, himself, would be the greatest betrayal of them all.

He closed his eyes and exhaled forcefully, letting his head roll back against the headboard.

He fiercely wished he could protect her from the ugly truth.

He gave an unhappy chuckle.

The ugly truth...

That he missed her laugh. That he missed kissing her lips, and looking into her eyes from so close he could see all the minute changes in their colour. That he missed waking up with her, his golden haired heroine, their bodies close, their breath and their scents mingling.

Telling Olivia the truth – more than to anyone else – would be defiling the memories of those days, of everything he had lived. Taking solace in having loved her would be denied. Tabu. He contracted his jaw in anger. He hated it, that whole mess.

That he would tell her was set. The when and the how remained to be seen.


	4. Go the distance

**Well, after holding on to this for more time than I care to count, here it is out in the world. Please review. I'll be working on one more chapter, and maybe be done with this fic. We'll see.**

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He turned off the radio and welcomed the quiet. Walter, mouth slightly open, snored a low contented snore. Peter gave him a quick glance over, and exhaled suddenly and sharply. He felt his brain addled, his mind sluggish.

Yeah, well, he thought, a couple of nights of no sleep will do that to you, stupid, idiot of a man.

Exiting the house, he knew he wasn't up to facing the grilling he could see Walter gearing up to give him - on the importance of _the truth_ and Olivia. Fortunately, Walter's self-medicating habits had gone in his favour this time, because almost as soon as the car started rolling, Walter was lulled into a heavy stupor. Peter thanked whatever gods had turned the tide in his favour: a three hour's drive to Rye, listening to Walter's diatribe on sexual indiscretions, never mind with a doppelganger of sorts, would have been worse than copper wires being shoved up his nose.

And so, miles of suburbia zoomed by, and were followed by farmed fields and forest, then there were granite boulders and hills and more forest. Now and then civilization gauged out nature: towns small and large, industrial and business parks, motels, diners, and fast-food joints, all the usual tenements of American highways. He travelled through most of it on autopilot, his mind a blank void, his actions only mindless reaction, except for those moments when something in his surroundings formed an association with something in his brain, and pierced through the haze, filling his mind with memory.

On the side of the road, a billboard announced a motel (HBO and internet available).

In his mind's eye, he sees Olivia withdrawing a little more into herself, her head lowered towards her chest, her jaw clenched. It lasts two minutes, no more, then she is back to her GI Jane self, Agent-Olivia-Dunham. He sees everything, takes note of everything – you never know where a tidbit of information is.

Another day, another case, another motel: now, a wistful look out of the car window, and eventually, the ghost of a sad half smile. Still he notes, and bids his time. And all the while, sneaking, creeping curiosity grows and gnaws at him. About how she can appear so detached and – yes - even cold and standoffish, when really she cares so much. He is her polar opposite. He looks positively caring (just turn on the megawatt smile and you're in), but could not care less.

Then, there comes the day when a motel is... unremarkable. Looking at Olivia, there's nothing to draw notice from more inquisitive eyes - for her it's just another day on the job. Weirdly, that gives him comfort. He's different now – _they_ are different now. There's no longer puzzlement at who or how she is, rather there's a feeling he cannot yet identify, a good feeling, that comes from knowing she demands nothing from him, and yet relies on him as no-one ever has, or could have before. It's more than that. She's getting closer, and for once he doesn't feel cornered. Somehow, he feels they're equals.

Whenever he realised his mind had wondered off, he would turn his thoughts back to the strip of asphalt rolling out before the car, until his mind was numb and deep in the blank haze again. Such was his state of mind reaching the outskirts of Rye, when suddenly a car cut across them – a red blur and the roar of an engine come and gone in the blink of an eye. He pressed the brake to the metal, yelling "Son of a bitch!" The station wagon screeched and jolted to a halt, and there was the smell of burnt rubber. That was enough to slap the haze away. Unfortunately, it also woke Walter.

"No!" Walter _screamed_, flailing his arms in front of him, as if reaching out for something_._ "No, don't go!" he looked utterly bewilderd. "Oh, arrrggh! Peter! You've scared them away!"

Walter's outburst let Peter know he was alive, conscious and grumpy.

The hunking of a horn made the two men look furiously to the car behind them.

"Hold your horses, asshole!" cried Peter.

"Put a cork in it!" cried Walter.

Peter drove off, once he had double checked the intersection. After a few blocks of letting Walter stew in his frustration, he threw him a glance, and asked "What did I scare away?"

"The unicorns." Walter said morosely. "They were showing me how to make a spectacular strawberry faluda. Now I'll never know..."

"Strawberry faluda, huh?"

"Yes, yes, a wonderful desert," he said impatiently, "but that's neither here nor there, because," he paused and his face softened somewhat, and speaking more gently – "have you thought what you're going to tell Olivia?"

That was that. Not even unicorns and strawberry ice-cream would throw Walter off the scent, not when it came to Peter's love life. Ah! the joys of a healthy father son-relationship, he thought wryly.

"No, Walter, I haven't." He said sharply, trying to end the subject there. He could see police lights farther down the street. Almost there. He would be able to avoid the subject altogether as long as there were corpses to entertain Walter. Maybe there'd be lots of them.

But Walter still persisted.

"You have to tell her! I know this is an instance of a parent asking a child to do as he says and not as he does."

"How many ways can I tell you that I don't want to have this conversation, Walter?"

" But you must have it."

" No, this conversation, the one that we're having right now. We're here."

" You understand better than most the pain a lie can inflict."

" Yes, I do..." There was only one way to stop Walter from preaching to the choir, so he finally relented. Full disclosure and he'd be done with it. " which is why, even though I expect it's going to fundamentally change how she feels about me, I am going to tell Olivia everything. Okay?"

" You're a good man, Peter. She knows that."

If only, he thought.


End file.
